


Greenwood Hall!

by SymphonyofDespair



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: I'm sorry Boromir you're still one of my favorites, M/M, So I kind of changed things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonyofDespair/pseuds/SymphonyofDespair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one time, Thorin Oakenshield was a young, adventurous dwarf. However, after several life-changing experiences in Greenwood, he will never be the same, and he will never love again. So what better to do than write a book about it? [Thorin x Legolas] Moulin Rouge non-human AU. Warnings: Sexual themes, mentions of prostitution, dark humor, and other misbehavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greenwood Hall!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, a brief explanation is owed for something this strange.  
> This is one of the prompts on a list of very many Leafshield fics that I wish to write. This has been the biggest of those projects so far, and it is the one that I am the most proud of. The casting will make a bit more sense later on, but please just enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or the Lord of the Rings, nor do I own the rights. Casting credit goes to Peter Jackson and the casting crew on the films. The characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

There was a boy. A very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wondered very far- very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he. Then one day- one magic day- he passed my way and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me:

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

"The Greenwood Hall. A nightclub. A dance hall and a bordello," Thorin scrawled down, bright images of drunk, merry people and vivid dresses filling his memories, which he then transferred onto the paper before him, "Ruled over by Thranduil Oropherion... A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all of these was the one that I loved- Legolas Greenleaf. A courtesan... He sold his love to men. They called him, "the sparkling diamond," and he was the star of the Greenwood Hall."

Thorin put a hand to his forehead, a sea of tears for his departed beloved flowing from his eyes before he leaned forward, and for a moment, he stared down at the pen and paper before him with a dark look. He reviewed the words that he had already written down. The dwarf took the quill in hand once again, his heart sinking as he faced the reality of his next written words, a weak whimper following them.

"The man I loved is dead," he wrote down, this time neatly and precisely before wiping the tears from his eyes and accepting the fact that he would not be going back after this sentence.

"I first came to Greenwood one year ago. It was 2941 of the Third Age, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Greenwood Hall, Thranduil Oropherion, or Legolas. The world had been swept up in revolution and I had been traveling to my homeland, Erebor to be a part of it," Thorin penned, his thoughts flashing back to his arrival in the area, then his trek through the unfamiliar streets, which lasted until he came across a gateway of sorts, the name Mirkwood across it. "It did not end with such a conclusion, as I found myself in Greenwood. In Greenwood was the region called Mirkwood, my final resting point. It was not as my father had described."

Thorin's mind flashed to his father's words, reliving a short moment of the lecture.

_"A pit of sin!"_

He rolled his eyes, smiling fondly as his mind guided him through memories of his fading youth before writing more, a small grin on his face, "But the center of the world- musicians, painters, writers, they were known as 'the children of the revolution.' Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom," he put a new sheet of paper in front of himself, placing the old sheet to one side, "And that which I believed in above all things: love."

His thoughts soon came back to his father, this time a different phrase shouted at him. This one made him scowl and put his quill down in irritation at what he knew was an image produced by his mind that still got under his skin.

_"Always this ridiculous obsession with love!"_

And with this, his mind produced images of the dwarf that he used to be.

_Thorin sat with a piece of paper before him, preparing himself to write something down, though he was unsure of himself and his prompt, especially considering the incessant noise coming from above his head._

"There was only one problem: I'd never been in love. Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious human fell through my roof."

_He watched with a horror-stricken expression as his ceiling crumbled under the weight of a man falling through it, another man beginning to shout, though he couldn't place the location of the voice. Thorin, naturally, had jumped from his seat, moving away from the commotion._

"He was quickly joined by a tall wizard dressed in long, grey robes."

_There was a bang as the door flew open and a jolly man sauntered in. Thorin would soon know this man as Gandalf, though at the moment, it was a bit shocking to see a stranger slam his door open and invite himself into the other's chambers._

_"How do you do?" the man asked with a little smile on his face. "My name is Gandalf the Grey."_

_Thorin only looked at the other, quite confused at his sudden appearance, deciding to speak with a sense of purpose before the man continued, though he could only produce a meek, "What?"_

_Gandalf walked over to the unconscious human, smiling a faint, empty smile to himself as he studied the man, who hanging from the ceiling by his foot, which was caught on a kind of rope. He suddenly spoke._

_"I am terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play."_

_Thorin, dumbfounded could only ask again, "What?"_

"A play. Something very modern called Spectacular, Spectacular," Thorin wrote, staring at his paper intently.

_"And it's set in the Shire," Gandalf added cheerfully._

"Unfortunately, the unconscious stranger suffered from a sickness called narcolepsy."

_As if by magic, Gandalf was right behind Thorin and his little desk, continuing to prattle in his odd manner._

_"Perfectly fine one moment and then suddenly," he made a snoring noise before continuing, "Unconscious the next." He laughed a funny little laugh before another voice broke the 'conversation' (if one could call it that) between the two._

_"How is he?" a high voice asked, causing Thorin to look upward, dumbfounded once again, by the sight of three men (though one looked quite like a woman) peeking through the hole in his roof and down at Gandalf._

_"Wonderful. Now the narcoleptic ranger is unconscious and therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow," remarked the same voice, which belonged to the man dressed oddly like woman._

_"He's right, Gandalf. I still have to finish the music," offered another man, this one also dressed rather strangely._

_Gandalf grinned madly, looking up at the three before simply stating, "Find someone to read the part."_

_"Where in Valinor's name are we going to find someone to read the part of a young, sensitive halfling poet goat-herder?" Lindir protested, staring down at the wizard with a frown._

_Gandalf looked to Thorin, a slight grin on his face._

"Before I knew it, I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Man," Thorin wrote, his writing curiously finding a way to go faster, though still just as neat.

_This was followed up by Lindir, Gandalf, Faramir, and Bilbo all with him in Gandalf's studio. The aforementioned wizard was singing a strange song, and it seemed to bother everybody present except for Thorin._

_"The hills animate with the euphonious symphonies of descant- ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," he sang, though Thorin wasn't sure how the man was still functioning with the chaos around him, most of it the buzzing of loose and dangerous... Well, what it was, Thorin didn't know. Lindir interrupted him, throwing his arms out in protest._

_"Oh, stop, stop! Stop that insufferable droning," he shouted, continuing to whine before moving into Bilbo's personal space. "It's drowning out my words!"_

_His tone was mildly sarcastic and a bit snippy, though he seemed to mean well in some way that was specific to Lindir._

_"Can't we just stick to a little decorative piano?"_

"There seemed to be artistic differences over Lindir's lyrics and Bilbo's songs."

_"I don't think a nun would say that about a hill," Faramir protested, waving his hand a little bit to take the lyrics out and reconsider the words._

_Bilbo, of course, had an idea, though it wasn't likely that Lindir would listen. "What if he sings, 'The hills are vital, intoning the descant?'" Bilbo recited as if it were a poem, though it was quickly shot down._

_"No, no," Gandalf admonished, shaking his hands around hurriedly before changing it up a bit. "The hills quake and shake..."_

_"No, no, no, no. The hills-" Faramir was cut off by the brunette ranger, who had suddenly stood up and started speaking._

_"The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies," cried Aragorn, who then became the center of attention, only to pass out and fall onto the floor again._

_The blonde knight turned away swiftly with not much more than a, "No," and some mad rambling, who he was joined in by Gandalf._

_Thorin and Gandalf spoke at the same time, repeating the words for a while, almost chanting, "The hills," and trailing off into nothingness until Thorin's mind produced a proper lyric, which he would say after a minute or two of changing it around._

_"The hills are chanting the eternal mantra," Faramir offered, cutting himself off._

_"Something is living in my foot," muttered Bilbo, who nobody was paying much attention to anyway._

_Everybody continued arguing over the wording for a bit until Thorin decided to tell them what he had in mind, though nobody would listen, so he began to wave his arms around like a madman to get their attention. Nobody bothered to pay any attention to the dwarf, so he decided to just sing out the lyric for the hell of it and hope for their approval._

_"The hills are alive with the sound of music," Thorin sang, and the room went silent. Of course, he had accrued a great amount of strange looks from the other members of the group (as if they could call anybody queer), though Aragorn jumped up from his position on the floor, then looked up at him._

_"Whoa... The hills are alive with the sound of music," the ranger repeated, shouting the words in what seemed to be joy. "I love it!"_

_Thorin, expecting to be admonished for his contribution, sighed a sigh of relief before looking to the others, who all started singing his words._

_The blonde went first, giving them the first line, "The hills are alive,"_

_"With the sound," continued Gandalf._

_Bilbo finished it with, "Of music," before he turned to look up at Thorin, breathing out, "It fits perfectly."_

_"With songs they have sung for a thousand years," the dwarf continued, walking down the ladder that he was sitting on, only making it halfway down before finishing, then grinning in pride at his success._

_Everybody in the room gasped jovially, not having expected this young dwarf that they had found after crashing through his roof to be of any use in writing the show. In fact, Gandalf was so impressed that he turned to Lindir with a great grin._

_"Incandiferous," Gandalf praised, looking Lindir in the eye. "Lindir, you two should write the show together!"_

_"I beg your pardon?" the elf asked, not only appalled, but scowling at the both of them._

"Gandalf's suggestion that Lindir and I write the show together was not what Lindir wanted to hear."

_Lindir was fuming, and quickly turned to the door, walking out with a, "Goodbye!" and the sound of its slam._

_Gandalf only turned to Thorin, giving him a bright smile before saying, "Here's to your first job in Greenwood!" and taking a drink of something._

_Bilbo took a step towards Gandalf, making his words obvious, though trying to keep them diplomatic and cordial._

_"Gandalf, Oropherion will never agree," he told the other, turning to look at Thorin before asking, "No offense, but have you ever written anything like this before?"_

_Thorin shook his head slightly before saying, "No."_

_Aragorn walked over near Thorin, who was still on the ladder. "The boy has talent," he cried, reaching up to touch Thorin, his hand landing on the dwarf's groin. Thorin gasped, not expecting the sudden violation, though unsure if he was supposed to say anything._

_"I like him," the young ranger remarked before noticing where his hand was and pulling it away. "Nothing funny. I just like talent."_

_Gandalf walked towards Thorin, the rest of the group coming with him as his mouth let out, "The hills are alive with the sound of music."_

_Bilbo, Faramir, Gandalf, and Aragorn all gathered in a huddle, Gandalf beginning to speak again, "See, Bilbo, with Thorin we can write the truly revolutionary show that we've always dreamed of!"_

_Bilbo, of course, decided to ask the important question._

_"But how will we convince Oropherion?"_

"But Gandalf had a plan."

_"Legolas," Gandalf offered, his plan already hatched._

"They would dress me in Aragorn's's best suit and pass me off as a famous Dwarvish writer," he penned, a guilty smile coming to his face as he continued. "Once Legolas heard my modern poetry, he would be astounded and insist to Oropherion that I write Spectacular, Spectacular. The only problem was I kept hearing my father's voice in my head."

Thorin cringed at yet another reminder of his father's lecture:

_"You'll end up wasting your time at the Greenwood Hall with a dancer!"_

Fortunately, that moment in the past was pushed away by the continuation of what happened with Gandalf, Bilbo, Faramir, and Aragorn after that moment.

_Thorin looked at Gandalf with wide eyes, though the wizard responded with a grin and a bottle of absinthe in his hand._

_"No, I can't write the show for the Greenwood Hall," Thorin cried, running back to the hole in the floor befor attempting to leave through it._

_"Why not?" asked Gandalf._

_"I don't even know if I am a true revolutionary," he confessed._

_"What?" Gandalf responded, looking back at Bilbo with a shocked expression. "Do you believe in beauty?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Freedom?" asked the ranger._

_"Yes, of course."_

_Bilbo posed the next question, "Truth?"_

_"Yes."_

_The final question was from Faramir, who asked, "Love?"_

_"Love?" Thorin asked before declaring his next words rather loudly. "Love. Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!"_

_The rest of the group simply looked at him as though he was a god until Gandalf broke the silence._

_"See, you can't fool us," he remarked, the words coming out after a few laughs. "You're the voice of the children of the revolution!"_

_The others all cheered, "We can't be fooled!"_

_"Let's drink to the new writer of the world's first revolutionary show," Gandalf cried, very happy with the result that he had gotten._

"It was the perfect plan. I was to audition for Legolas and I would taste my first glass of... absinthe."


End file.
